“The Raven Boys” by Maggie Stiefvater or a tale about rich boys making bad decisions
Week #1: reading a book by a female author every week of 2024
Wandering in the woods, looking around, and feeling constantly observed by someone. It might be the raven sitting on a branch of a faraway beech tree, or maybe it’s the trees watching you, as if they are about to say something—something they see from far above that, from your pitiful height, cannot even be traced. And you go deeper into the woods, losing sight of the gray concrete of the highway and the familiar shape of your old red Mustang. You look back for the last time, and the red paint glistening in the afternoon July sun feels unusually out of place in this chamber of secrets in plain sight. It’s too obvious, too predictable—exactly what you’ve been trying to escape from your whole life. You have no regrets now; the decision has been made. You have no regrets now as you go deeper into the woods, hiding under a green blanket of oaks and beeches. You have no regrets now, and there is only one way to go: forward, where the answers to your unspoken questions will finally reveal themselves.
In 20 years, when I’ll forget everything about most of the books I’ve read in my teenage years, I'm sure there will be one thing about this book I’ll remember: its atmosphere. While reading this book, I complained about the development of the plot being too slow or the characters “doing nothing” for entire chapters. But what I didn't realise is that by the time the book ended, I had become a part of Henrietta’s world, as if I were standing in Cabeswater, dreaming of Glendower, and laughing at Blue’s cheesy jokes. It felt as if I became a part of the story.
The characters felt real, and I wondered if I could meet Gansey, Adam, or Ronan at school tomorrow and ask them to let me read Gansey’s journal and go search for the ley line together. They feel like real teenagers (a phenomenon quite rare in young adult fiction). Maggie Stiefvater doesn’t shy away from depicting the messy realities of teenage life—the confusion, the angst, the desire to belong, and the fear of the unknown. And when a magical adventure falls into their laps, they don’t stop being angsty, confused, and proud, but try to reconcile their identities with the new-found responsibilities. Even Henrietta becomes a character in its own right, a living, breathing creature that both enchants and ensnares. Crime, murder, psychotic high school teachers—the Raven Boys experience all the things kids their age don’t have to worry about. And Maggie Stiefvater doesn’t try to make them artificially mature to fill the shoes of adulthood; rather, she embraces the absurdity of high school kids having to worry about turning in their history homework in the morning and trying to catch the guy who murdered their best friend in the afternoon.
“They didn’t even have the authority to choose an alcoholic beverage. They couldn’t be deciding who deserved to live or die.”
The characters weren’t isolated from the world around them, either. Their lives didn’t stop in order to pursue plot A of the book. The side characters of the book didn’t just fill in the gaps; they played the role of a mirror for the main characters. As the Raven Boys dug deeper into the secrets of Henrietta, they started seeing the world in a whole new light, questioning everything they thought they knew, while the people around them stayed the same. Some of them finally had enough of dealing with their abusive parents, while others realized that their childhood home didn't feel like home anymore.
“It had something to do with the knowledge that his [Gansey’s] parents’ house wasn’t truly home anymore — if it had ever been — and something to do with the realization that they hadn’t changed; he had.”
And even though the first two-thirds of the book are spent on seemingly mundane things, as we get to know the characters and become acquainted with the weird world of Henrietta, the story doesn’t feel boring or static. The introspective worlds of the characters Maggie Stiefvater had created, from Blue Sargent with her eccentric family of psychics and her own unique gift (or curse) of amplifying supernatural energies to Adam, burdened by his humble origins and relentless ambition, are so rich and complex that they hold our attention effortlessly.
The characters are tied by the same goal: find Gledower, but each of them is chasing after the old king for completely different reasons and what we end up with seems more like a lot of individual stories, with each character searching for something unique, something personal.
Blue is the only non-psychic in her family and is constantly surrounded by the talanted women of 300 Fox Way. Even her mother calls her “useful but unnecessary. ” Naturally, as is typical of teenagers, Blue wants to prove to her mother and, most importantly, to herself that she also has something unique to offer. Her desire to be unique is visible not only in the way she eagerly joins the Raven Boys in their hunt for Glendower but also in the way she dresses (colorful and always hand-made) and the way she asserts her independence in every aspect of her life. For Blue, Glendower is “her thing.” Her disobeying her mother and exploring the secrets of Cabeswater is her way of telling the world, “I am my own person, not just a psychic’s daughter."
For Gansey, Gledower is less about gaining something or adding a new accolade to his “future president” resume. For Gansey, there are two worlds: that of his father and his Virginian old money lifestyle, and that which he finds by pursing the hunt for Glednower—a world where he doesn’t have to put his “President Cell Phone” smile on or pretend to always be polite, calm, and composed. Beneath his polished exterior lies a deep well of insecurity and existential angst, stemming from his privileged upbringing and the weight of his family’s expectations. It is not a wish that Glendower would grant him what Gansey wants most, but to find his authentic meaning and purpose. He desperately tries to discover who “Gansey” truly is, rather than conforming to the persona of “Richard Gansey III” that the entire world perceives him to be.
For Adam, however, Glendower represents quite the opposite. As the outsider in the group, Adam feels as if he always has to depend on someone and desperately tries to reclaim autonomy over his life. Raised in poverty, he tries to transcend his humble origins through hard work and sheer willpower. For him, the wish granted by Glendower would mean he would finally have something of his own: not his father’s home, accompanied by constant beating and resentment, not even Gansey’s help, which would make him effectively inferior to Gansey. Adam is proud but it is not pride that makes him reject Gansey’s offers to move in with him to Monmouth Manufacturing to escape his abusive father. Adam wants a home that feels like his own. He wants to belong at Aglionby, not like a scholarship student discovered at the trailer park in Henrietta, but like a student with a secure and bright future (and maybe a vintage car).
“To not have to work so many hours, to get into a good college, to look right in a tie, to not still be hungry after eating the thin sandwich he’d [Adam] brought to work, to drive the shiny Audi that Gansey had stopped to look at with him once after school, to go home, to have hit his father himself, to own an apartment with granite countertops and a television bigger than Gansey’s desk, to belong somewhere, to go home, to go home, to go home.”
Ronan, on the other hand, is one of the most mysterious character’s in the book. Haunted by the death of his father and burdened by a dark secret, he struggles to reconcile his inner chaos with his outward appearance of defiance and bravado. The same thing goes for Noah: as the quiet observer of the group, he often fades into the background; his presence is felt more through his absence than his actions. Still, both of them are intricately connected to Henrietta and the quest for Glendower.
But perhaps the true magic of Stiefvater’s writing lies in its atmospheric richness—the evocative prose, the haunting landscapes, the palpable longing that permeates every page. From the mist-shrouded forests to the ancient ley lines, the book feels alive with energy and possibility. By the time we put down the book, we find ourselves enchanted by Henrietta and its inhabitants, long after the final page is turned.
I absolutely enjoyed reading “The Raven Boys,” and I’m glad I started off this challenge with such a great read. For now, I’ll put exploring Henrietta with Blue and the boys on pause while I read other books. However, I’m sure I will return to “The Raven Cycle” in the future, and you’ll hear me talk about it again. Next week, I’ll be slightly switching genres and will be reading “Mémoires d’Hadrien” by Marguerite Yourcenar. Stick around to see me dissect it in my next essay.
